Fizzypop

“Let’s get a move on,” said Skye. “I don’t want to miss registration!”

First period that day was geography with Mr Harper, who likes to drone on about rift valleys and things and never notices what people get up to so long as they get up to it quietly and don’t disturb anyone who might just want to hear what he’s saying.

Me and Jem sat in the back row, with Skye between us. Skye really likes to pay attention in class, so she wasn’t best pleased when Jem pushed a note in front of her and pointed at me. She thinks it is childish to pass notes. Impatiently, not taking her eyes off Mr Harper, she flicked the note towards me.

Y U shrivel shirt?

I sent a note back: Not my fault. Y U think skull going 2 burst?

Tell U ltr, replied Jem. Y not yr fault?

I was about to explain about the iron, and all the electricity rushing out of control through the mains, but I didn’t get the chance because at that point Skye wrote STOP IT! BEHAVE YOURSELVES, heavily underlined, on the back of her geography book.

She can’t help being bossy; both her mum and dad are teachers.

Second period was English with Miss Rolfe, who gave us back the essays we’d written the previous week on the subject of ‘Beginnings’. We’d had to write all about our early lives, as much as we could remember.

“On the whole,” said Miss Rolfe, “I was quite pleased with them.” Ooh! It takes a lot to please Miss Rolfe. “Daisy, could you hand these back for me? There is one that I would really love to read aloud… Jemma?”

Jem looked startled. She is not used to being singled out, unless it’s for talking, or fidgeting, or not paying attention.

“Do I have your permission?” said Miss Rolfe. “I won’t if you’d rather I didn’t.”

Jem by now was bright pillar-box red. “It’s OK,” she muttered.

“Are you sure? Maybe you’d like to read it yourself?”

Jem shook her head, violently.

“All right, then. Here we go! This is what Jemma wrote.

“My beginnings are shrouded in mystery as I was adopted when I was a baby and don’t remember anything about my life before. Some people feel sorry for me and say it must be terrible not ever having known my real mum and dad, but as far as I am concerned my mum and dad that adopted me are my real mum and dad. I don’t want any others! Maybe one day I will feel curious and want to know who my birth mother was but for the moment I am perfectly happy and anyway I would not like to upset Mum and Dad by trying to find out in case they might think I didn’t love them.

“One of the things about being adopted is that people never say to you, ‘Oh, don’t you look like your mum?’ which is what they sometimes say to my friends that aren’t adopted and my friends get really mad as for some reason they don’t seem to want to look like their mums. My mum is quite large and jolly and laughs a lot. I am rather small and not always jolly, though I do like to have a bit of a laugh. Dad is very sweet and gentle, and that is definitely not like me! I am sure if you asked my friends they would say that sweet and gentle is the last thing I am!!! I am not sure what they would say I was. A bit of a pain, probably.

“I am an only child, and only children are often said to be spoilt, but I don’t think my mum and dad spoil me. Mum is quite strict in spite of being jolly. Dad is not quite so strict as he tends to leave all the telling-off to Mum, but if she says NO he always backs her up. I feel very grateful to them for adopting me. I’m sure there were lots of other babies they could have had if they’d wanted. I think that is the BEST thing about being adopted, you know that you have been chosen and it makes you feel special.”

There was a silence as Miss Rolfe finished reading; then Skye started to clap, and all the rest of us joined in. It was so amazing! It was obvious that everyone was really moved by what Jem had written. It was just such a brave thing to do. It made me feel quite ashamed of my own essay, which had gone on at great length about Angel and her temper, and Tom being an alien. I’d never once thought to say that I loved Mum and Dad. Or Rags. Or even Angel and Tom, if it came to that. Cos I do love them, in spite of everything. I would just have been too embarrassed to say so.

“I think you’ll agree,” said Miss Rolfe, “that that was really heart-warming. Refreshingly honest. Thank you very much, Jemma, for letting me read it. Girls, I know that was the bell, but please don’t rush!”

Me and Skye wandered slowly out into the playground with Jem, who was still quite pink.

“That was brilliant,” said Skye.

I said, “Yes, it was.

” I thought Jem would be pleased, but instead she looked at us with her face all scrunched up and said, “Oh, I wish she hadn’t done that!”

Chapter Three

“Done what?” said Skye.

“Read it out!”

“But it was lovely,” I said.

“Refreshingly honest.”

“And heart-warming!”

“It could even get chosen for Speech Day,” said Skye.

We’d been told by Miss Rolfe that every year one junior girl and one senior girl got to read out their essays in front of the whole school, including parents and governors, not to mention what she called “local dignitaries”. Meaning the Mayor, I suppose, and the Mayor’s husband. It is hard to think what other dignitaries there could be.

“Imagine,” said Skye, “you’d have your picture in the paper.”

“I don’t want my picture in the paper!”

Pardon me? Was this my friend Jem speaking? Just last term at primary school we’d had an author visit and Jem had been the first to rush forward when the photographs were taken. She’d been so eager she’d practically left a trail of bodies behind her. I reminded her of this and she said, “That was different.”

I said, “How?”

“It just was!”

“Is it because you don’t want people knowing you’re adopted? Cos that’s just silly! Like you wrote in your essay, being adopted makes you special.”

“You think so?” said Jem.

“Well, that’s what you wrote! Anyway, you didn’t have to let her read it. You could have said no.”

“Didn’t like to,” muttered Jem.

“But why would you want to?” Skye was obviously at a loss. She is always having her stuff read out. “It’s an honour!”

Jem sighed. “I s’pose.”

“So what is the problem?” We’d reached our favourite corner of the playground, hidden away in the angle between the drama studio and the wall which separates us from Tom’s school next door. We’d staked it out as our territory from the word go. It was a bit dark and dingy, but it was where we went when we wanted to be private. “I don’t get it,” said Skye. “I mean… heart-warming!”

“Refreshingly honest.”

“But it’s not true!” wailed Jem.

Not true? Was she telling us she wasn’t adopted?

“When you say not true… which bits,” said Skye, “exactly?”

“The yucky stuff.”

“You mean, like, about your mum?”

“All that stuff about her being jolly and Dad being sweet and me being perfectly happy… all yuck!”

We stared at her, perplexed.

“Has someone upset you, or something?” said Skye.

“Mum, if you must know!”

“Your mum?” What could she have done? Me and Skye adore Jem’s mum. She is large and jolly, and she does laugh a lot. She’s fun!

“What’s she done?” said Skye.

“Just gone and ruined my entire life is all!”

Uh-oh! Me and Skye looked at each other. I pulled a face: Skye rolled her eyes. It is hard, sometimes, to take Jem seriously, especially when she goes into drama queen mode. But we are her friends and she was obviously desperate to offload. Now that the cork was out of the bottle, there was no stopping her. Her mum was impossible! She didn’t understand her, she didn’t even try to understand her. And her dad just sat on the fence. He never stood up for her! He never even stood up for himself.

“He just agrees with everything Mum says! It doesn’t matter what it is, she’s the boss and he just goes along with it. Like ask your mum and what does your mum say? and—”

“And what does she say?” said Skye.

“She says no! So Dad says no!”

“Says no to what? I’m afraid,” said Skye, “you are not making any sense. Try starting at the beginning,” she said kindly, “then perhaps we’ll know what you’re talking about.”

“Right.” Jem heaved a great quivering sigh and clutched at her hair with both hands. I wondered if the top of her skull was coming off again. “There’s this girl in my road? Liliana? She’s, like, thirteen?”

We nodded, solemnly.

“Well, she’s joined this model agency, OK? And she’s already got her first job, modelling clothes for a catalogue, and they’re paying her, like, a fortune? So she says why don’t I enrol, cos they’re really looking for kids like me, sort of… ” Jem waved a hand.

“Pretty,” I said. I don’t mind admitting that Jem is pretty.

“Yes. Well, sort of. But, like, good in front of a camera. You know?”

Jem is good in front of a camera. It’s why she loves being photographed. Me and Skye just freeze, but Jem really plays to it.

“So anyway,” she said, “I asked Mum if I could sign up, I begged her to let me. I pleaded with her! I told her I would so like to be a model, cos I feel it’s something I could really do. You know?”

“I thought you wanted to be a make-up artist,” said Skye.

“There’s nothing to stop me being both! I could be a model and a make-up artist. This girl, Liliana? She says it’s so cool! She’s even got her own portfolio.”

I said, “What’s a portfolio?”

“It’s like this collection of photos? Like head-and-shoulders and full-length… all different. But big ones! Not just titchy little things. You get them when you join the agency.”

“What, for free?”

“Well… sort of. You don’t have to pay them till you start earning money. But Liliana’s already earning money! Her mum’s putting it in the building society for her, for when she’s older. If I did that, it would help me go to college to study make-up and stuff. I told Mum, I said it would mean she and Dad wouldn’t have to pay anything, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s just so… stodgy. And fat! She’s fat. That’s why she won’t let me do it! She doesn’t approve of people being models. She thinks they’re too thin. She hates people that are thin! She says what I do when I leave school is up to me, but she’s not having me starving myself to a size zero while I’m in her care. Like I would! She’s just being totally stupid. And all Dad says is, it’s up to your mum. It’s all he ever says!”

On she went; on and on. We did our best to console her. I made soothing noises and Skye made what I think were supposed to be helpful suggestions such as, “Maybe if she sees you’re really serious your mum will change her mind,” and, “Maybe you should speak to your dad and tell him how much it means to you.” So Skye! But Jem had gone into tragic mode. We obviously didn’t understand: her life had been blighted! Totally blighted! This other girl, Liliana, was going to get rich and famous while Jem would be left behind to moulder. All because of her mum!

I did sort of feel sympathetic, cos I know what’s it’s like to desperately want to do something and not be allowed to. Like one time when I really really really wanted to try hang gliding and Mum said, “At your age? You must be joking!” and Dad said, not on your life. I sulked for a while, like about a day or two, but then something else turned up and I forgot about it. I could see that not being allowed to join a modelling agency was probably more frustrating for Jem than me not being allowed to go hang gliding, since hang gliding wasn’t exactly going to turn into a full-time career. Jem really could be a model. Well, a mini model. As Skye somewhat tactlessly pointed out, she wasn’t ever likely to grow tall enough to be a proper one.

I groaned. That was absolutely the wrong thing to say. That just got her going even more. She kept at it all the rest of the day. All through the lunch hour, all through the afternoon break, all the way home. It’s funny how some people can’t ever let a subject drop.

I wondered, as we all peeled off in our different directions, what Mum would say if I told her I wanted to do modelling. Not that I did, I am just like totally the wrong shape, being sort of… square, I suppose is the word. But I thought I would put it to her, just out of interest. See if she reacted the same way as Jem’s mum. If she did, then maybe it would make Jem feel a bit better and not so down on poor Mrs McClusky. It was really mean of her to call her mum fat!

I started to yell “Mu-u-um” as soon as I let myself in, but then I saw that the door of the front room was closed which meant Mum had someone in there so I went through to the kitchen to find that Dad was home. He was sitting at the kitchen table with Angel, eating pizza. Well, Dad was eating pizza; Angel was nibbling on a lettuce leaf. I was glad he was there as there was something I’d been meaning to ask him. It was a pity about Angel, but as she lives in the same house it is not always easy to avoid her.

“Dad,” I said.

Dad said, “Mm?”

“Can you tell me something?”

“Don’t know till you ask.”

“If you were using an iron,” I said, “and all of a sudden there was a power s—”

“Not again!” shouted Angel. “Don’t you ever give up?”

She looked like she might be going to turn violent.

“Well, all right, then,” I said. “What about the garden shed? You don’t th—”

Angel screamed. A short, sharp, mad sort of scream.

“Do you mind?” I said. “I’m trying to talk.”

“Yes, and I’m trying to relax,” said Dad. “Do I have to remind you both that I was out of the house by five thirty this morning? I’ve had a hard day, I can do without you two going at each other.”

There was a pause.

“I’ve had a hard day,” I said. “We had double maths after lunch.”

“Shut up,” said Angel.

“Shut up yourself!”

“No, you shut up!”

Dad banged on the table. Tom, who had silently come in and helped himself to a slice of pizza, went silently back out. At the door he bumped into Mum, on her way in.

“What’s going on?” said Mum. “What’s with all the noise?”

“They’re at it again,” said Tom.

“For goodness’ sake!” Mum pulled out a chair and sat down next to Dad. “If you have to shout, go and do it somewhere else. Not down our ears!”

Very dignified, cos I wasn’t going to lower myself to Angel’s level, I said, “Pardon me, but I was just trying to talk.”

“Just trying to make excuses! Drivelling on about power surges. Honestly,” said Angel, “I sometimes can’t believe I’m related to it. You didn’t secretly adopt it or something, did you?”

“Not as far as I can recall,” said Mum.

“It wouldn’t worry me,” I said. “Jem’s adopted. She says it makes you special. But I think if I was,” I said, “I’d want to find out who my birth mother was. Wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I might, at some stage,” agreed Mum.

“Jem says she’s not interested.” Well, that’s what she’d said in her essay. She might feel differently now that her life had been blighted. “She says she wouldn’t want her mum and dad thinking she didn’t love them.”

“In that case,” said Mum, “don’t you go putting ideas in her head.”

“Me?” I said.

“Yes, you.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Well, make sure you don’t.”

I munched for a bit on a slice of pizza.

“Jem wants to join a model agency,” I said. “She’s decided she wants to model clothes for catalogues and earn pots of money. Would you let one of us do that? If we wanted to? Jem’s mum won’t let her. Jem’s so upset.”

“I wouldn’t mind joining a model agency,” said Angel.

“Oh, no!” Mum was very firm about it. “We’re having none of that, young woman! You’re already quite obsessed enough with your weight as it is.”

“So you mean you wouldn’t let us?” I said. “Not even me? I’m not obsessed!”

“Neither of you,” said Mum.

“But why not? I don’t understand why not!”

“Because apart from anything else, it would distract from your school work.”

“And who would want you, anyway?” said Angel.

I said, “Somebody might.”

Angel tossed her head. She likes doing that as it makes her hair swish. I guess she thinks it will attract boys.

“You have to be joking,” she said. “What would you model? Boxing gloves?”

Dad banged again on the table. “Enough!” he said. “I have had enough. If you can’t manage to be civilised with each other—”

I said, “I’m civilised. She was the one being rude.”

Angel opened her mouth, then caught Dad’s eye and closed it again. Dad doesn’t very often get ratty, but when he does it’s best not to try his patience.

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